


And Drink a Health Whate’er Befalls

by leupagus



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Character Death, F/M, Female Bilbo, M/M, Multi, Post-Battle of Five Armies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 16:42:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1175396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leupagus/pseuds/leupagus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And so life went on, very much as it had in the past age; full of its own comings and goings, with change coming slowly (if it came at all).</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Drink a Health Whate’er Befalls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elsajeni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsajeni/gifts).



> Inspired by [the incredibly fun and intriguing prompt fill](http://meressel.tumblr.com/post/71929142489/trope-request-bilbo-thorin-snowed-in-bonus-points) written by [meressel](http://meressel.tumblr.com)/[Elsajeni](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsajeni). She very kindly granted me permission to write a story based on her outline; I have departed from it, but remain in her debt.
> 
> Title taken from the traditional Scottish farewell song "[The Parting Glass](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Parting_Glass)."

Kíli’s funeral was a grand affair, solemn and splendid when Bilbo compared it to the simple burials of the Shire folk. Perhaps it was meant to awe; another bit of dwarven diplomacy, ceremony to strike fear and wonder into those few strangers permitted to witness. But she did not think so. Fíli and Thorin, both wounded so close to mortally that it was only luck that they were not in matching coffins, stood on either side as Balin read out prayers of mourning in the strange, hot language of the dwarves. Bilbo did not understand it; she knew only that khuzdul was kept secret, but that today she stood next to Tauriel of the Greenwood and heard grief spoken in words that seemed cleaved from the rock. She stood and watched Thorin, King Under the Mountain, the second of that name, Oakenshield and Orcbane. He looked tired. He looked like a king.

Afterwards, she was careful to avoid him. She could not answer herself as to why; whatever madness had clouded his mind had passed, and Gandalf had assured her that the Arkenstone’s influence had been destroyed with the fall of Dol Guldur and its hold over the gem. Besides, the wizard was still there under the mountain; he would take care that no harm came to her, whatever Thorin might do. But still she kept to the upper halls near the surface of Erebor, taking walks outside, planning her trip home with Beorn and Gandalf and counting down the days until she would be free of this place that had taken so much and given back nothing at all.

She could only hide for so long, of course. She was packing, her knapsack of new leather with shiny silver buckles, a gift from Bard and his children. She was not sure if everything would fit, and so had it all laid out neatly on her bed when the door opened.

“I’ve told you before to please _knock—_ “ she sighed, for the Company were all of them dear to her (so very dear) but they never quite got the idea of privacy through their thick-plated skulls.

“No, you haven’t,” Thorin said, and Bilbo’s breath caught in her throat.

But she cleared it, and did not turn away from her task. “Good afternoon, Your Majesty,” she said.

“It is almost dark,” he said, as his boots clocked against the stone floor.

“Then good evening, Your Majesty. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“You’re not very pleased, that’s clear enough.”

“ _Thorin_ ,” she sighed, and glared at him. He wasn’t wearing his ridiculous crown and the clothes seemed familiar, somehow; not the velvet and brocade garments of royalty but leather and chainmail. She should correct herself and call him “Your Majesty,” but he didn’t look like that. He looked like Thorin.

“I was waiting for you to lose your temper,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I didn’t have to wait long.”

“Coming from _you_ , that remark comes dangerously close to a witticism. And you haven’t answered my question.”

Thorin frowned at her. “I thought perhaps you wanted to apologize before you left.”

“You thought perhaps _I_ wanted—“ she turned back to the bed and grabbed the nearest thing to stuff into the pack. Her hand closed over the handle of Sting; she set it down again.

Thorin drew closer, and unsheathed his own sword. “Did you ever notice,” he said, as he grasped Orcrist by the blade so that the pommel was pointed directly at Bilbo’s heart, “That our weapons have the same flourish on the fuller?”

“I don’t know what a fuller is,” Bilbo said, moving away slightly.

“You’re lying,” Thorin said, conversational. He leaned over, pulling Sting free of its sheath and setting them together. “Look,” he said as he stood at her side.

Bilbo looked, although she did not need to. “Yes, that curly bit. It’s very pretty.”

“And exactly the same. Hardly surprising, given that they were found in the same place. I have received word from Elrond, who looked into the matter; a dagger was forged to be the second weapon to Orcrist’s bearer. The warrior would have no shield, no defense, as he went into battle. But he would be a terrible enemy to meet, with a weapon in both hands.”

“If this is your way of asking me to give you Sting so you can have the complete set, it seems in poor taste, but I suppose I still have time to buy a weapon before we leave tomorrow.” She hoped he would not ask for her mithril shirt, as well; aside from the fact that she was wearing it, she wanted to keep _something_.

“It is my way of telling you—“ Thorin bit back whatever he was going to say, which was just as well, since he was sounding bad-tempered and Bilbo still recalled the shouting matches he would get into with Gandalf or Dwalin or her or _tree branches_ that got in his way. She disliked shouting. “I did not think you would abandon us.”

“I am not abandoning you, I am going home after the completion of the job. You have your mountain, you have your treasure. My contract is fulfilled," Bilbo said. She dared not look at him, but instead wrapped up her spare apron and stowed it in the knapsack. It was not so very much after all; she lifted it and it did not seem as heavy as it had when she set out, all those months ago.

Thorin plucked it out of her hands. "You cannot leave like this,” he said.

"So says the King under the Mountain?" she said, knowing how faint and thin her voice sounded. "I am not your subject, Thorin, only your burglar. And I have stolen enough."

"Stolen enough and more," Thorin agreed. "Will you not look at me?"

"No," Bilbo replied. "Give me back my bag."

“No.”

Scowling, Bilbo crossed her arms. How could a dwarf who had fought wargs and goblins, who stood before her now with a mountain at his command, be such a little boy? "Thorin, I am _leaving_. You cannot stop me."

"I can and will," he said. "You have stolen from me, and I will keep you prisoner until I get satisfaction."

"I have stolen nothing. Well," she amended, then faltered, because the Arkenstone was an unspoken weight between them.

But to her surprise, he pulled that very gem from his pocket. "This will one day be buried with me," he said. "The pride of Erebor, whose beauty nearly destroyed us. But you took it from me; you would have used it in some scheme to broker a peace you had no part of. I would call that stealing.”

"Gandalf called it diplomacy," Bilbo said.

“And you?” Thorin asked, his tone gentle. She looked up at him - there was no anger in his face, though what was there she could not name.

"I think I would call it desperation."

"Would you stay, for this?" he said, quick and low, as though preparing himself to put a dislocated shoulder to rights. "Would this keep you here?"

Bilbo wanted to scoff, to roll her eyes and tell him she was no dwarf, to be so easily bought with baubles. But she realized it was not about what she would take, but what he would give.

To offer her this was to offer her anything.

And so she curled her fingers around his fist, pressed the Arkenstone back to his breast. "I'm not for the keeping," she said, gently.

*~*~*

The journey home was not so long nor so unpleasant as Bilbo had expected. She had prepared herself for long weeks with only her own regrets for company, but Gandalf and Beorn bore her spirits up and she laughed more days than not. When they bid Beorn goodbye and set off back across the Misty Mountains — now able to take the Low Path, wiped clean of Azog’s orcs after the Battle of the Five Armies — Gandalf asked if she wanted to spend some time in Rivendell before they went back to Bag End. For a moment Bilbo thought about it, remembered the warm breezes tickled at her toes and the pleasant hum of magic and music, always just too faint to hear but still buzzing against her skin.

“I want to go home,” she said to herself, then blinked and realized Gandalf could hear her. But he simply nodded and clucked to his horse, and they took the last, long road home.

It had been a year and a day since she had left her smial, and she was not sure what to expect. But when she opened the door to Bag End there were sounds of quiet bustle from the kitchen, and Lobelia Sackville-Baggins’s head poked out from around the doorframe.

“I see you’ve survived the adventure,” she said.

“I see you received my note,” Bilbo replied, and put her pack down on the side table.

“Note? I simply found your house abandoned one day, without so much as a slice of cheese in the pantry, and thought me and Otho ought to grab our chance while we could.”

Bilbo was well-acquainted with Lobelia’s manner of expressing affection, and so she replied, “It’s good to see you too, Lobelia. Thank you for taking care of things.”

“Well, I can’t say I’m pleased,” Lobelia sniffed, blinking her eyes very rapidly. “Since I’ve had my eye on that tea set of yours for almost a decade. But I suppose you’ve brought back treasures even greater than the ones you left.”

“I’ve brought back riches, it’s true,” Bilbo said, suddenly fond of this cantankerous young girl, who seemed to have been born at the age of ninety-five. “But none so treasured as the friends I have here.”

“Hmph,” said Lobelia, but she gave Bilbo a quick peck on the cheek. “I’d best be getting that tea set your next birthday, is all I’m saying.”

It was, from Lobelia, almost as startling a confession as an armful of flowers and pastries. “You’re a married hobbit, remember,” Bilbo teased, and was rewarded with Lobelia’s scowl. “To my _cousin_ , no less.”

“Yes, and to think all this one day shall be mine.” Lobelia waved a hand around Bag End. “I’m quite overwhelmed with family feeling today.”

After luncheon, Bilbo helped Lobelia pack up what little she had in the house and loaned her Murgatroyd for the purpose of carrying her back to her own hole across the river. Gandalf, who had tucked himself away in a corner and spoken not three words since they arrived, pulled out his pipe and busied himself with lighting it.

Bilbo watched him for a moment; so strange to think that the ordinary blanket of her life was already covering over her adventures, but here was Gandalf still, proof that this past year had been real. 

He looked up and caught her watching. “Tea?” she offered.

The wizard laughed. “Bilbo Baggins, you are every inch your mother.”

“And every pound my father,” she said, patting her stomach.

*~*~*

And so life went on, very much as it had in the past age; full of its own comings and goings, with change coming slowly (if it came at all). _Mistress_ Baggins, if you please, grey streaking her hair but her face still young enough to send strangers over the water tripping over her insistence on the honorific, continued her solitary life, though there were more whispers now about the scandal of it. And if strangers should come knocking at her door, swarthy stomping dwarves and quicksilver elves, the occasional loose-limbed Man, all the more reason to tip one's hat to Mistress Baggins as she did her Sunday shopping. One never knew, and there was rumor of gold hidden away in those tunnels of hers.

The first letter did not arrive for almost a year, and it was much stained and creased, bearing the stains of tea and less mentionable fluids upon it. Bilbo was given it by a dwarf who marched up to her gate one morning and squinted at her as she worked on a smoke ring.

“Baggins? Miss Bilbo Baggins?” he asked, as though he wasn’t ready to believe it.

“Yes?”

The dwarf thrust the letter at her, nodded in a businesslike way, and was off down the lane before she could do more than hold out her hand for the letter.

It was from Balin, of course.

> _I hope this message finds you well. We got word from Gandalf a few months ago that he saw you safe to your homestead and you fed him handsomely; it seems that wizards, dwarves, and hobbits alike have their priorities in order when it comes to food. He also reported that the journey back was not so adventursome as either of you had expected, and it seemed there was some disappointment there. I trust that you, at least, didn’t share it._

Bilbo laughed, folded up the letter, and tucked it away in her pocket to finish it later. Over tea that afternoon, she read about the various exploits of the Company and the mountain. Glóin and his wife had welcomed a new daughter into the world, sending their son Gimli into a fit of protectiveness. Óin was busy instructing a new generation of healers, “ _teaching being the best place for someone who could not hear students’ fatuous questions._ ” Bofur had moved with his cousin to Dale and set up a tinker’s shop; he and Bard were, it seemed, the fastest of friends. Bombur had decided to stay in the Mountain, and he and Dori were kept busy as the new overseers of the mining expeditions. Nori had, unsurprisingly, disappeared, though his brothers were unconcerned (“ _let me amend that Ori is unconcerned, and Dori is filled with mutterings of doom, but that is perfectly normal for Dori, to be quite honest,_ ”) and Ori had become Balin’s chief assistant and a surprisingly able administrator. _“I suspect he and Dwalin have some sort of understanding, but I have known my brother since before he was born and it will take a king’s command to get the truth out of him, and Thorin is loathe to do so and risk the wrath of his Captain of the Guard._ ”

At the mention of Thorin’s name, Bilbo paused, took a sip of her tea, and continued on.

> _You’ll be shocked and amazed to hear (or perhaps you won’t) that Miss Tauriel has stayed with us all this long while and is, no less, one of Dwalin’s guard-captains! It came about on Fíli’s insistence, since she saved his life and tried desperately to save his brother’s. Moreover, Thranduil has made diplomatic overtures now that his silly stones have been restored to him (a bad bit of business on Thror’s behalf, I won’t deny) and Miss Tauriel is something like an attache to the various ambassadors from Mirkwood that skulk about and try to wrangle new trade agreements. Though they are not alone — we are quite overrun by elvish and mannish diplomats who are anxious to restore relations with the Mountain. Thorin is, I think, rather too willing to hear them out and establish new contracts, but I am sure you would be proud of him. I should add that we have yet to receive any corps from the Shire._
> 
> _The Prince fares well, although if he read this letter and found I had called him that he would try to give me a thumping (and rest assured he would fail). He still grieves for his brother, but his mother’s recent arrival from the Blue Mountains has done much to restore his spirits. The two of them, indeed, get up to as much mischief (if not more) than Kíli could have aspired to. It is a great pity you were never able to meet Dís, for I am sure you would like her enormously; all the charm of her youngest son with none of the addle-headedness (begging pardon to speak ill of the dead, but Kíli would have been the first to agree with that description. Do you remember the incident with the ponies and the trolls?)_

“That was as much Fíli’s fault as Kíli’s,” Bilbo muttered, but turned over the page to continue reading.

> _But mischief-making or no, her presence is welcome. Now that the mountain has been reclaimed, there has been some controversy over the line of succession. I believe you had already left when Fíli announced that he would abdicate as heir, which threw Thorin in a fit and sent the entire Mountain in an uproar._

“Abdicate! I should think that _would_ ,” Bilbo exclaimed.

> _Dáin Ironfoot has since been pressing his claim, citing his kinship to Thorin and his victory at the Battle of the Five Armies, though there are few in Erebor who credit him with that — we have good memories in time of war, and remember well that it was Thorin’s flag we rallied under in the final push. But until Dís’s arrival, it seemed that there was no closer kin that Thorin could appoint as heir; but though she is a dam she is far preferable to a distant cousin from the Iron Hills. (I mean no disrespect in that matter, as I understand that you yourself are a hobbit-lass — this was vouchsafed to me by Fíli once, and I hope you will forgive his indiscretion. Amongst dwarves there are few such lasses, and their lives are considered far more important; to force them into the role of a soldier or ruler when there are so many lads to do it for them seems wasteful.) And moreover Dís is a popular figure both in Erebor and amongst the new arrivals from the Blue Mountains. She is the widow of the son of one of the great families of Ered Luin and it was expected that, should Thorin’s cause fail, she would be the head of our clan. So this change seems only right, though it has given Thorin more white hairs in his beard._
> 
> _At any rate, the Mountain stands and thrives, and once again it is because of your cleverness that we have a home at all. I never think of you but in thanks, and I am glad you are home once more amongst your own kind. I had not thought to ever feel that sort of happiness again; but you have given it to me and to all of us. In Erebor you are known in our language as First And Best, and when the statue of you is completed I will be sure to send a likeness of it._

“A _statue_? Goodness me, what a bunch of clot-heads,” Bilbo snorted, though she couldn’t help smiling.

> _I hope you will be able to tell us of your own adventures this past year. I further hope that you will welcome this letter and perhaps others like it. The Company to a dwarf wish very much to write to you, but we understand that perhaps you would not be so happy to hear from certain parties. I volunteered to be the first to venture, since you and I were good friends on the road and I hope very much you will forgive me more readily than others. We will all await your reply, and whatever it may be I and all the Company remain,_
> 
> _Ever yours in blood and bond,  
> _ _Balin, son of Fundin_

*~*~*

> _My dearest friend and comrade,_
> 
> _I was so happy to receive your letter, and I cannot tell you anything more without first saying that of course you are welcome to write to me any time you wish — and if ever there is cause for any of the Company to venture Westward again, I hope you will consider my (far humbler!) hill as much a home to you as the mighty mountain of Erebor._
> 
> _But as for tales of adventure — I am very happy to inform you (though sorry if it is disappointing) that my life has settled quite easily back into its former routine. My “letter opener” Sting sits gathering dust in my umbrella stand, and the mithril shirt is tucked safely into a chest somewhere (though I am not sure what it could be kept safe from — thieves, perhaps!) and I have grown a good deal fatter from the good food and leisure I have indulged in; happily so, I might add, for a hobbit’s girth is something we take a good deal of pride in. I have had all my skirts let out at least twice in the past ten months._
> 
> _That is not to say that I have been bored or even restless; my family and friends are scandalized a good deal by my adventurous tales and so I have had a nice time shocking them further by doing such unmentionable things as planting daffodils in my windowboxes (everyone knows daffodils are supposed to be planted along the gateposts) and buying red meat on Saturdays (when the common thing is to purchase it for Sunday roasts). It has interested me very much to see where the boundaries of good behavior lie in my own society; for so long I have taken our way of life for granted, but now I see hobbits with new eyes. They are not overly critical, I hope, for I still think the Shire the best place in the world and the residents of it amongst the best people — but I now understand in ways I did not before the elements of the ridiculous. I have been thinking of writing a book one day, “Concerning Hobbits,” for the edification of the rest of Middle Earth._
> 
> _I look forward to hearing from all of you — please let Tauriel know that she too is welcome to write to me. I am sure Thorin will not have time or inclination, so you need not extend the invitation to him._

*~*~*

> _…and you best believe that its all do to that Alfrid whos still alive and kicking and lurking about even though the Master scarpered as soon as he could. Bifur thinks spiders might of eaten him, but I dont think even those spiders are that hungry._
> 
> _Bard sends his regards as do the children, which reminds me, between you and me Bilbo I think Sigrids gotten a little sweet on Fíli, who comes to visit every month and who always looks a bit bashful when Sigrid serves him a tankard or whatnot. It is coming to something with the whole family of Durin falling in love with outsiders, next I hear Princess Dís will be marrying one of them eagle fellows who pay their compliments to the mountain and accept a small flock of sheep every few months…_

*~*~*

> _…I’d love to get a portrait of your new daughter; I’m sure she’s every bit as lovely as her mother, brother, and sister. You said that for dwarves, having two children in such quick succession is very unusual, and I will admit that even amongst hobbits a twelve-month between one birth and the next is not common. But it seems to me that you and your wife are making up for lost time! At any rate, I am sure Gimli needs something to do, and looking after a pair of little sisters will have him well-occupied._
> 
> _I remember what you said about your now-middle child Gimlet being such a serious little soul, and so have enclosed a toy that might lighten her mood a bit. Hobbit children often play it, and it’s considered very good for hand-eye coordination, in case she should be worried that it’s a game and not some sort of training device. It’s called, rather straightforwardly, cup-and-ball, and here is how  you play it…_

*~*~*

> _…so happy to hear about your marriage, and I offer the greatest of felicitations! You must tell me all about your spouse and how the two of you met. A hobbit, you see, loves nothing more than stories about romance — we like our adventure tales (provided they happened long ago and far from the Shire) but those of us of a literary nature indulge most in stories of true love._
> 
> _Though to answer your inquiry, I can say that I have not, myself, entered any matrimonial arrangements. I don’t think I will, either; I’m almost fifty-five years old now (and though for a dwarf that is not even a grown-up, for a hobbit that is quite comfortably middle-aged) and pretty set in my ways. If there was a nice gentleman who would not mind doing everything I said and never disagreeing with me, perhaps I would consider it — but then again, what a bore that would be! Perhaps someone who will argue with me at every turn, but_ still _do what I say; sadly I think no such gentleman in all the world exists like that…_

*~*~*

> _…Mother has started laying broad hints that I should find myself a spouse, to which I have replied that she’s the heir, not me, and if anybody in the Durin line ought to be breeding it’s her. She clouted me on the ear for that one, and I can see the expression your face now, as you tell me that well she might._
> 
> _I do miss that expression, believe it or not._
> 
> _She’s probably right, too — the line of succession’s still not settled, and I have a suspicion that by the time my mother does have her hands on the axe and scepter, she’ll have talked me back into being a Prince again. And the worst of it is, I’d probably do it — I even want to, I think. And that’s one reason why I’m so stone-scared._
> 
> _That’s the awful truth of it, Bilbo. That’s the reason I abdicated. They say the Mountain’s curse has been lifted, but what if it’s only Uncle who was blessed? Or what if it’s that him and Mother are — just stronger than me? How could I ever do as good a job as them? They’re both strong as oxes, but I’ve only ever been the clever one of a pair, and my pair is gone and_
> 
> _~~and I’m not sure I’m strong enough alone.~~_
> 
> _I crossed that out but I won’t blot it away. I wish I could end this letter on a more cheerful note, but I know you won’t judge me for my weakness. I only wish I could follow this letter and sit down to talk with you…_

*~*~*

> _…such a clot-head as I’ve ever met with in my life. First of all, Fíli, you are by far the cleverest dwarf I ever met, although to be honest that is not saying such a lot, since the entire Company was such a collection of rag-brains as I ever saw. Second, you must know that you are always welcome here. The journey is long and I cannot ask you to come while risking your safety — but if ever you or any of the Company, or indeed anyone in the mountain whom I’ve grown so fond of, if any of you need to seek refuge, you have only to knock on the door. (I would say, ring the bell, but I never have gotten around to fixing it after Bofur accidentally pulled it off the hinges that night you came to visit.)_

*~*~*

Bilbo was just dozing off in the chair by the fireplace when there was a tap on the door. She grumbled, but not very much; nowadays she was less notorious and more a celebrity, with children tromping up to the doorstep at all hours to demand stories from Mad Mistress Baggins. Only yesterday little Primula had run all the way fun rom the Brandywine Bridge to hear about the trolls.

"Come back to hear another tale of adventure?” But as she pulled the door open she stopped, because it wasn’t Primula at all.

“I know I was never part of your Company,” said Tauriel, looking ready to bolt at any second. “But I thought perhaps it would not — that is—“

Bilbo brushed that aside and tugged her down for an embrace, kissing her on the cheek. Elves don’t age, and at any rate it had been only a few years, but Tauriel did look different than Bilbo’s memory of her, somehow. “You must be starved and exhausted; I have an excellent supper that only wants a few extra potatoes to make it fit for two, so come in and take off your cloak.”

“That would be welcome,” Tauriel said with her strange slanted smile.

Tauriel did not talk of what brought her here, a scarce five months after Bilbo had sent out her letter to Fíli, and Bilbo did not ask. They passed that evening talking of the Shire, a subject Bilbo never truly tired of, and Tauriel told of the adventures she’d had on the road.

Bilbo also did not ask how long her guest planned to stay. A few days turned into a week, then two. It had been almost a month when there was another knock on the door.

*~*~*

> _…and I hope you won’t take exception_ _to the bearer of this letter staying in your company for a little while,_   _but given his tendency to get himself into the most appalling mucks around these parts, we thought it a good idea to have him a bit out of the way._
> 
> _Yours very gratefully,  
>  Dori, son of Ri_

“I should’ve tossed that letter down the first chasm I saw,” sniffed Nori, buttering a thick slice of bread. “But never let it be said I’m a dishonorable dwarf.”

“The letter was steamed open and rather badly glued back together,” Bilbo pointed out, pouring him another half of ale.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

*~*~*

A bare three days later Dwalin and Ori arrived. It was their raised voices on the doorstep, not a knock at all, that brought Bilbo to the door. “Is that scallywag here?” Dwalin growled, tromping into the house.

“Hello, Bilbo,” Ori said, pointedly. “How nice to see you.”

“Hello, Ori,” she replied, kissing him fondly on the cheek and taking his cloak. “Should I ignore him, do you think?”

“Goodness knows I do,” Ori observed mildly. Bilbo blinked; it was still the same sweet-faced young dwarf who had shared his stores of ink with her, and yet he seemed quite different. His hair was braided in a new style and his beard had at last begun to grow in, adorned with silver points. Bilbo glanced at Dwalin; his bushy beard had been styled, too, with matching points clacking together along his cheeks.

“Very wise,” she said solemnly.

“I’ll not be put off. I’ve come with shackles and irons if need be,” Dwalin threatened.

“If you have the smallest intention of dragging one of my guests back to Erebor in chains, Dwalin son of Fundin,” Bilbo snapped, “I shall have the magistrates on you. Besides, Nori hasn’t stolen a thing since he’s gotten here.”

That brought Dwalin up short. “Nori’s here?” he said, then glared hard at Ori, who shrugged.

“It’s not as though _either_ of my brothers ever tells me anything,” he said serenely. “But I had my suspicions.”

“Aye, and kept them to yourself, I see.”

“Because we all know what you’re like when you get the least—“

Bilbo interrupted, as fascinating as it was. When she’d left Erebor she could scarcely imagine a scenario where Ori would speak to Dwalin, much less snap back at him and scowl in such an imposing manner. It reminded her of something, though she could not think what. “If you are not here for Nori,” she said, “Then who _has_ brought you?”

“Most likely me,” said Tauriel from the doorway.

“ _Aye_ , most likely _you_ ,” Dwalin snarled. “You — you—“

“You didn’t come all this way to arrest the lady Tauriel and you know it,” said Ori, stepping in front of Dwalin. “My lady, we were concerned when you left Erebor without word.”

“I informed His Highness the Prince of my destination,” Tauriel said doubtfully.

“And he didn’t see fit to _tell us_ that for almost a week! We came this close to stopping in Rivendell on our way here,” Dwalin said in an accusatory tone. " _Rivendell!_ "

“Yes, yes,” Bilbo sighed, “Very trying. Come inside; we've just made a cake.”


End file.
